It is strange to have so much love for something you have never met. It is strange to feel a deep loss for someone who never took a breath. Tonight my wife had her second miscarriage. This was her third pregnancy. The first ended in another miscarriage, the second resulted in our beautiful three year old daughter Nola, and now the third has ended in disaster.
About a week or so ago, Nola began calling her unborn sibling Light. Light was her name because Nola had also determined that we were having a girl. She spoke of Light’s room and how she could share her bed. She talked about how she would help feed Light milk and play games with her. She told us how she would take Light to the park with her and have “so much fun.” She was determined to be a perfect big sister.
When we tried to explain to Nola that we would no longer be having a baby join our family, she was in denial to say the least.
“I think the baby is still coming to our home”
It is a gut-wrenching task to explain to a 3 year old that they will no longer get to be an amazing sister. This conversation will have to be repeated a dozen painful times.
Nola told me that she was playing with Light last night in her dreams. They were playing with a red ball. I always feel there is some magic in the innocence of children and maybe, just maybe they were enjoying their sisterly love on some plane that we don’t understand. If Light was able to spend any of her time in the presence of the unending joy that spills out of our daughter Nola then her life was blessed. Light could not have felt anything but happiness as they threw the red ball back and forth, and hopefully that is what she will leave this world with.
The first miscarriage didn’t seem real. I was young and we didn’t have any other children. The entire thing happened so fast that it was never solidified in my mind. I can’t speak for my wife, because there is a difference in the experience of carrying a life inside you that I will never be able to comprehend, but I barely even cried. I didn’t realize what I had lost. I didn’t realize the feeling of seeing my own child before my eyes. I was ignorant.
This time is different. I now understand the unlimited love that beams out of me towards my daughter Nola. I know exactly what we have lost. And now I can’t stop crying. As I type these words saline swells in my eyes and drips from my chin.
I’m talking about this because a lot of people don’t. I can’t believe that I would ever forget how I feel right now in this moment, but I don’t want to lose anything about this moment. I want to remember how I felt about Light and I want to remember how much she affected our family even if we never met. I want to remember Nola being so sweet and hopeful that she would soon be a big sister. I want to remember every tear that I shed for Light.
We may never try again. This was very difficult for my wife and the multitude of medical struggles that she already faces makes child-bearing a daunting task. This loss may have been the closing to an even larger door. As Light leaves us it is easy to allow my mind to get clouded with darkness.
I found myself walking through the supermarket to pick up some maxi pads. I was staring at shelves of food for no reason. I was just staring and walking and blank. My mind is an empty bowl. My soul feels vacant. My body feels broken.
I think the worst part may be the mental affect this has on my wife. Miscarriages happen in up to 25% of pregnancies, but there is an irrational emotional guilt that is attached to a miscarriage. Not only does my spouse have to undergo the deep emotional and physical stress of her loss and labor, but there is a psychological aspect as well. She has told me that she is sorry for what happened as if it was her fault. This is the major issue with miscarriages that I think we ought to address. This happens to 1 out of every 4 pregnancies. It is not your fault. It is terrible and it is uncontrollable. It is not your fault.
I don’t know if this makes any sense or if I will ever share it with anyone, but I had to say something. I don’t care if there is a point, I’m just so sad.
I love you Light.
I miss you.